


The Mess We Make

by bananannabeth



Category: La La Land (2016), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Mortal, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 08:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12186207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananannabeth/pseuds/bananannabeth
Summary: Both children of Hollywood royalty, Piper McLean and Jason Grace have more in common than either of them want to admit. Jason is determined to become a movie star, and Piper wants to be taken seriously as a musician, and neither of them have the time or patience for anyone but themselves right now. But Hollywood is a smaller place than it seems, and their paths just keep on crossing.





	The Mess We Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suneater (Gryn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryn/gifts).



 

 

The sun is shining so intensely the asphalt is shimmering, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and Jason can see the LA skyline in the distance. There’s a slight breeze, just enough to sway the palm trees, enough to entice him to have his windows down, and he can hear a mix of upbeat music playing from all of the cars around him.

 

It’d almost be a picturesque scene, if he weren’t stuck in a horrendous gridlock on the 101.

 

“No, I’m on my way, I -” He cuts off abruptly as his boss snaps at him through the phone. “Yes, I know, I just - Traffic’s really bad, I’ll be there as soon as I can -”

 

 

His boss continues scolding him, and Jason rubs his temple and closes his eyes. He probably won’t even be late, but this is what he gets for trying to be considerate and giving work a heads up.

 

He starts as the car behind him beeps aggressively. He’s barely recovered from the shock before the ostentatious convertible overtakes him, the driver even making the extra effort to flip him the bird as she goes past. Wonderful.

 

“I’ll be there soon,” Jason says firmly into the phone.

 

Before his boss can reply, he hangs up and takes off.

 

Now that traffic’s moving again, the drive to the studio isn’t so bad. He gets a half decent park and power walks through the lots, past white washed buildings from the 1920s, fake backdrops with skies just as impossibly blue as the real thing, people bustling from one set to another with headpieces and clipboards and frazzled expressions. None of them pay him any attention as he slows down, craning his head back to admire the details of the scenes.

 

This is magic, to Jason. A world within a world - multiple worlds within a world, a period drama set up beside a modern day comedy with a futuristic space epic playing out down the road. It’s a window into the past and present and future all at once, a million stories, all just waiting to be told.

 

He wants to tell them all.

 

“Jason!” He spins around to see Reyna gesturing at him from the cafe doorway, expression stern.

 

He hurries in after her, throwing one last wistful look back at the sets as he goes. “Sorry, I -”

 

“You’re exactly on time, don’t ruin it by standing there apologising,” Reyna says, throwing an apron at him.

 

He catches it easily and slips it over his head, settling into the routine of work at the coffee shop with relative ease. He serves low fat soy lattes and gluten free muffins for a few hours with a smile, until -

 

“This doesn’t taste like soy milk.”

 

Jason blinks at the guy standing on the other side of the counter. He’s wearing a headpiece and a name badge - Octavian, what a name - and is frowning down at the cup Jason just handed him like it’s been laced with poison.

 

“Oh,” Jason says. “Uh. It is.”

 

“Can I see the carton?” Octavian asks imperiously, as though Jason’s obviously lying through his teeth.

 

If he hadn’t been working here long enough to have become immune to the fragile egos of everyone working in Hollywood, Jason would have laughed in his face. As it is, he mutely grabs the carton of soy milk and passes it to Octavian, who reads it and sniffs, “I’ll just have a black coffee.”

 

Jason wants to point out that he’s already got what he ordered, and this black coffee definitely won’t be on the house, when a man enters the cafe and everyone inside falls silent.

 

One woman whispers to her friend, the noise startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet cafe. A guy by the window points, and everyone’s heads follow the man as he walks up to the counter and orders a cappuccino. Jason mutely nods and makes the coffee as quickly as possible, hands shaking slightly, because this is for Tristan McLean.

 

“On us,” Reyna says, pressed right up to Jason’s side as he hands the drink over to the star.

 

“I insist,” Tristan says, flashing them that trademark smile that graces posters all over the studios, the city, the world.

 

Unwilling to argue with a celebrity, Jason takes his payment and returns the smile.

 

As the door shuts behind him, the coffee shop comes to life again. Reyna breathes out, the patrons start talking again, and Jason watches Tristan be driven away in a golf cart, cappuccino in hand, and wonders if he could ever have that effect on a room.

 

* * *

 

Piper is already pissed off, but when she unlocks her apartment door and sees a pair of shoes that are definitely not hers kicked up against the wall, her mood darkens.

 

“Annabeth, what did I say to you about letting yourself in to my apartment?”

 

Her best friend’s voice drifts down the narrow hall. “How the hell are you living like this, Pipes?”

 

Piper scowls and stomps into the kitchen/living/dining area. It’s a small apartment, but it’s enough for her. And it’s all about the location, anyway.

 

Annabeth is sitting cross-legged on her kitchen counter, blonde curls piled into a messy bun and grey eyes narrowed as she scrutinises the boxes sitting around the room.

 

“Get off my counter, what are you, a toddler?” Piper punches her knee, but Annabeth doesn’t flinch, impeccable balance holding her steady.

 

She holds up an old record and spins it around in her hand. “Why are these unpacked and yet your entire cutlery set is still in boxes?”

 

“I only need one knife and one fork -”

 

“Oh, fuck, Piper.” Annabeth lowers the record, giving her a look halfway between disgust and sympathy. “That’s the saddest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

 

“Oh, piss off.” Piper leans back against the counter, folding her arms over her chest and glaring petulantly at her scuffed shoes. “Why are you here?”

 

“I came to check on you, and to invite you out tonight. Percy and I are going for dinner, thought you might wanna join.”

 

“And third wheel?” Piper sticks her tongue out. “No thanks.”

 

Annabeth uncrosses her long legs and lets them dangle over the side of the counter. Piper watches, reminded of all the nights the two of them snuck out of their dorms at the posh boarding school their parents sent them to, breaking into the kitchen to steal chocolate and (sometimes, when they were feeling particularly brazen) wine. They’d climb the fence at the back of the grounds, sit on top of it and stare out at the stars, talking about all the places they were going to go when they got out of there.

 

This apartment was not where Piper had imagined herself ending up.

 

“You won’t be third wheeling, you know it’s not like that. Percy loves you,” Annabeth says.

 

She’s not lying. Piper gets along well with Annabeth’s boyfriend, who enjoys surfing and skateboarding as much as she does. But she’s not in the mood to see the two of them blush whenever their pinky fingers touch on the table top, or to hear Annabeth talk about how well her new architecture job is going.

 

She’d rather sit at home, order Chinese food and watch Netflix.

 

She shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’ve - got a bunch of stuff I have to do.”

 

Annabeth raises an eyebrow. “Like unpacking your kitchenware?”

 

Piper rolls her eyes. “Yeah. And working on a new song.”

 

Annabeth brightens, sitting up straighter and stopping her swinging feet. “Yeah? You’ve got inspiration?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Piper lies. “You know, the change in scenery has been really helpful…”

 

Annabeth’s good mood dampens. “Mhmm. Heard from your dad at all?”

 

“Nope.” Piper picks at a loose thread on the sleeve of her t-shirt. “It’s fine, he’s… busy. And I’m busy, too…”

 

Annabeth tuts. She knows enough about strained relationships with parents to not push Piper for anymore information, though. Instead, she hops off the countertop and says, “If you change your mind about tonight, let me know.”

 

Piper pulls her into a hug, tight but brief, and walks her out. When she closes the door behind her, the apartment is horrendously quiet.

 

 


End file.
